


Tethered (Multi Chapter)

by hollidayparty



Category: Captain Marvel (2019), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I just really need a reformed Yon-Rogg okay??, I may or may not be stuck on this blood-sharing thing, I'm a slut for Jude Law, Post-Canon, Redemption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2019-11-21 07:02:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18138968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollidayparty/pseuds/hollidayparty
Summary: The ~~multi chapter~~ version of a drabble that won't get out of my head. Let's assume Yon-Rogg realizes the error of his ways and undergoes a redemption arc and is now dedicated to fighting alongside Carol to right all of his wrongs against her. And also, he adores her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> what up party people, turns out i work better when i write backwards?? Here's the precursor chapters to the Tethered one-shot :)

“Come on, love,” Yon-Rogg coaxes, leaning against the doorframe in the entry to their, no, _her_ common area. “Even if you do have the power of a million stars in your fingertips, you can't stay awake forever.” 

She tosses him a withering glare over her shoulder before lolling her head back around to the coffee she’s idly stirring at the small kitchen table.

They're still adjusting to the close quarters. The comfort and domesticity alone is foreign to him. It's been years since they shared a space, let alone the majority of their time together. Yet he would have to have been on the other side of the cosmos not to notice how little sleep she was getting. But even then, maybe not.

“Is it the dreams again?” he asks softly.

She sighs and pushes the mug away, ceramic clattering softly on the table top. 

“Always,” she answers tiredly. 

She shifts on the dining chair and draws her legs into her chest, wrapping her arms around them and dejectedly rests one cheek on her knee. 

She looks so _small_ , he thinks. He studies the deep and dark shadows under eyes, the way her shoulders sag forward, her whole frame practically screaming with obvious exhaustion. The cognitive dissonance he experiences as he surveys her is dizzying. He tries to reconcile the power of a goddess he knows is brimming within her and this small, desperately sleepy girl draped around herself. 

He suddenly wants to do anything in his power to comfort her, to shelter her, to watch over her, just to give her enough peace to rest. But only on her terms. 

“I could stay with you, if you like,” he suggests, all traces of teasing gone. 

She cocks an eyebrow. 

“How do I know you won’t try to smother me with a pillow?” she asks, sardonically. 

For a moment, Yon is stung by her question. But he swallows his pain and reminds himself, again, that _she_ has ever right to kill _him_ , a hundred times over, for everything he's done to her. She has every reason not to trust him, he knows, so he answers honestly. 

“I can’t have spent all this time with you and _not_ know that it would be suicidal or just bone-stupidity to even try to kill you.”

She considers this, considers him. She shrugs and cracks a smile. 

“I know. I just wanted to see how you'd answer.” 

He snorts, and shakes his head at her. She still loves to make people squirm for no reason other than she can, it seems. 

“Come on, I'll hold the fort,” he says, turning away from and heading for her room. 

As she nestles into her blankets, she watches him take a seat in the threadbare armchair in the corner of her room, a hand-me-down from Maria on her last trip to Earth. She flips on a small screen on the opposite wall and selects some reruns from an old Terran television program she used to watch.

“Are you sure you won't be bored, staring at me all night?” she teases. 

He rolls his eyes. 

“I'm sure the enthralling entertainment you've selected for us will keep me absolutely entranced,” he drawls drily. 

She laughs. 

“You know, of all the scenarios I thought up on Hala about you ending up in my bed chambers, bullying me into getting some shut eye while you watch _Happy Days_ was _not_ one of them,” she says.

He stiffens, mystified, and his eyes cut to her face. She can't be serious. His heart nearly jolts out of his chest as his stomach flings itself against his spine. She fantasized about him? In her room? Quickly regaining his composure, he _just_ manages to chuckle somewhat casually.

“Perhaps you should have had a more colorful imagination,” he lilts, training his eyes fixedly on the TV screen again. The space for a single heartbeat passes. “Though if you decide you want to get me in bed, all you'd ever have to do is ask,” he replies cooly.

She smirks at this, then shrugs. “I figured.” She yawns pointedly. “Goodnight, Yon.” 

He shakes his head again, smiling a little to himself. She'll be the death of him, he's sure of it. He settles into the chair and tries to sift through the trivial dialogue of the show… 

In minutes, Carol's out like a light. He sits through three episodes of the sitcom before he allows himself to think she might actually be getting some decent sleep. The show's ridiculously cheery theme song begins for the fourth time as Goose wanders in and curls into the space behind Carol's knees, purring contentedly. After two more episodes, Yon-Rogg is fairly certain she (and the cat) must be deeply under. Mollified, his head to falls back against the chair, his own eyes drifting closed. 

He feels the tug before she stirs. The intangible yet familiar exclamation point forms at the edges of his mind and alerts him to her discomfort. His eyelids drag themselves open as his head turns automatically to look at her. Her brow is deeply furrowed, mouth pressed into a slight grimace. Amber energy flows around her fingertips as her face softly glows, contrasting sharply with her pained expression. 

Carefully, he steps over to the bed, frowning as he looks down at her. His heart clenches as her face twitches, the distress obviously deepening. Instinctively, he brushes her hair back from her forehead. “Carol, you're okay,” he whispers. 

At his touch, she opens her eyes, but they're unfocused, not quite awake or aware. He smiles reassuringly but withdraws his hand from her face. “I'm here. Just sleep. I won't let anything hurt you,” he vows quietly. 

Her face relaxes, a hint of smile dances at the corner of her mouth. The glow on her face subsides, the energy flicking between her hands fades to smaller and smaller zaps. She reaches out and intwines her fingers in his, yanking him down beside her. 

He lurches forward at the sudden movement, but catches himself and settles on top of her blankets, back against her headboard, one ankle crossed over the other with his legs stretched out in front of him. He is careful not to intrude on her space. But he stays where he's seated, and resumes rhythmically caressing her hair until her breathing deepens, dutifully keeping watch for any sign of lingering nightmares. Five program episodes later, he drifts off again, head tipped back against the wall. 

When Carol wakes in the morning, she's more rested then she anticipates. She stretches languidly and turns to Yon, snorting when she sees him still slumped against the headboard. She studies his face for a few moments, analyzing the rarely relaxed and peaceful arrangement of his features. He looks so much younger, she muses. 

Tentatively, she reaches out to sweep her fingertips across his temple and over the curve of his ear. He inhales deeply at her touch and turns his face toward her. He slowly blinks his eyes open and smiles softly at her. 

“You didn't have to stay all night,” she immediately complains. “Your back must be killing you.”

He shrugs. 

“How'd you sleep?” he asks, pointedly ignoring her protests.

She pauses. 

“Good, actually,” she replies. “Thank you. It's still hard for me to listen to you. Especially when there's a _very_ small chance you could be right.”

“Well,” he grins, “some things never change.” 

She rolls her eyes. 

“Next time just lay beside me, okay?”

He cocks an eyebrow. And then nods.


	2. Chapter 2

Yon-Rogg watches Carol yawn for the third time in four minutes. It's late. Very late. And she's stubbornly pouring over documents, coordinates, and holograms, ignoring her obvious need for sleep. He sighs quietly under his breath, mentally preparing for the verbal sparring he's about to undergo to urge her to sleep. But suddenly she turns and flicks off the lamp next to her and stretches deeply before getting to her feet. 

“Ready for bed?” she asks, beating him to the punch by milliseconds. 

“Sure. Do you want me to - ?”

“Would you mind - ?”

They both speak in rush, questions colliding into each other and skittering to a stop.

He smiles at her indulgently, eyes raking over her slightly sheepish expression. 

“Of course I don’t mind,” Yon-Rogg tells her. His brow furrows slightly and he opens his mouth to speak, closes it, and then opens it again. 

“Actually - I noticed.. last night when you were upset,” he hesitates. “It seemed to help if there was… physical contact. You opened your eyes but I don't know if you were actually awake..”

She cocks her head to the side, remembering. She had thought the body language had been clear.

“I just wanted to be sure that you're okay with that. I never want to put you in a situation where your consent is… questionable again. Before, on Hala, when you weren’t _you_ , it’s muddled..” he mumbles, eyes flitting briefly to the floor as he frowns. He draws in a quick breath, pushing the fresh chagrin to the side and plunges on. “So. I just. Is it alright if I'm close to you? If I touch your arm or your face or your hair to help soothe you when you're distressed and not fully awake?”

She’s struck by this, watching him stumble and tangle himself on his thoughts. But the sincerity and earnestness saturating his words is impossible to question. 

“Yeah, Yon,” she says softly. “That's okay. It did help.” 

He nods and offers her a small smile. 

So it begins. 

They slip in bed together every night that week, the same silly sitcom playing in the background each time. At first, they always start with a polite distance between them, possibly even a strategically placed pillow. But as the night goes on and the dreams come, the space shrinks until she's lying centimeters away, eyes desperately searching his face as he whispers to her. Or she reaches out, still asleep, to wrap her fingers around his wrist, or his forearm, or his bicep. 

He starts reaching for her before either of them is fully conscious of the need for it. There are nights when the connection is so in tune, the call and answer so automatic, that they move closer together and quell the panic seamlessly before it even breaks through to the surface of their conscious minds at all. 

Sometimes, on harder nights, they lie awake for a while, drowsily swapping details from the fragmented memories of their past lives. She gushes about carnival games on Terra or the surging emotions that nearly swallowed her when she was accepted into the Air Force. He watches the way her eyes dance when she tells him about the first time she flew. He closes his own eyes and concentrates on searing the image into his memory. He tells her about his childhood, the scraps with his brother, how he could never quite escape the obsessive competition between them. 

When she tells him about breaking the nose of some sexist Air Force pilot dumb enough to goad her, he barks a laugh so sudden and so loud that Goose leaps a foot in the air and scurries from the room. When he tells her about how his mother always gently yet wordlessly wiped blood from his and his brothers faces after every fight, the tenderness such a rarity for his upbringing, Carol briefly cradles his face in her palm, softly tracing his cheek bone with her thumb. 

She softly presses a kiss to his forehead when she wakes before him the following morning. He smiles, eyes still closed, listening to her softly pad out of the room and he knows deep, deep down that he has _always_ been hers.


	3. Chapter 3

“It's alright, Carol,” Yon-Rogg mumbles, eyes closed and chin still pressed into the back of her shoulder. “Come back to sleep. You're safe.”

Carol doesn’t respond, only turns to stare at him curled loosely against her back, his arm draped languidly over her waist. Her gaze is uncertain. When the silence stretches on, he peeps one eye open and scans her face.

“How did you know I was awake?” she whispers, suspicious. “Was I talking in my sleep?”

He sighs softly and rolls slightly away from her onto his back. He studies the crease between her brows and the frantic look in her eyes. Flashes of energy flit and dance among the ends of her hair. The nightmare must have been a bad one, then, he notes.

He motions for her to come closer, inviting her to curl in the space under his collar bone. When she slots herself beside him and rests her head on his chest, he basks for a moment in the feeling of having her safe in the circle of his arms. Not that she _needs_ the safety of his arms, he knows; she could obliterate him in a heartbeat, if she so wanted. She looks up at him, the unanswered questions still plain on her face.

“Your blood… calls to me,” he explains carefully, “when you're in distress, I sense it. It's a defense mechanism, an instinct, part of the price of sharing my blood with you.”

“So you always knew,” she guesses. “You were already awake all those times I banged on your door.”

He nods, golden eyes flitting over her face.

“Why didn't you tell me?”

He pauses. He tenderly plays with a strand of her still-sparking hair as he collects his thoughts.

“I thought it might be best if I gave you space, the privacy to be at the mercy of your emotions,” he says.

She turns to look at him, surprise and confusion sprawled on her face.

“I worried that I would cause you more shame if I tried to comfort you, given that usually I was on your ass all the time to hold it together,” he teased lightly. His eyes quickly grew serious again. “I didn't want to take your last fortress away from you, too.”

He drops the strand of hair and ghosts his fingertips down the ladder of her ribs.

“But every night, I felt, I _still_ feel it,” he amends, “And I ached to go to you and take it all away and soothe you and protect you and chase the nightmares out. But your quarters were _yours_. You didn't have to hide. Not there. Not with me.”

It’s several moments before she can speak.

“I'm sorry you had to know when I was weak,” she mumbles, chagrin searing every nerve. The intended edge of sarcasm is singed away by the embarrassment.

He smiles gently, indulgently.

“I knew even then you were the strongest woman in the galaxy,” he murmurs. “I get them too, you know. Everyone does when you've seen enough battles and death and trauma.”

“Right,” she bites back, “which is why you so often woke _me_ up in the middle of the night when _you're_ borderline hysterical.”

He chuckles. “I've had more practice, that's all.”

He turns his head, lips brushing her hairline, and sighs.

“I'm so sorry,” he whispers, contrition constricting his voice, his throat, his chest.

“I know. You've mentioned it once or twice already.”

“I could live a hundred lifetimes and still never deserve you,” he says, voice reverent.

“You're right,” she laughs. “I should make this much harder on you.”

“Part of me wants you to. I wish I could adequately describe how completely you own me. But,” his mouth twists ruefully, “you always have. I was a fool to pretend otherwise.”

“You _were_ a fool,” she agrees. “But not solely for that reason.”

She knows he’s still squirming emotionally; she can sense it without even looking at him. When she props herself up on an elbow to look at him, his face is pinched, anguish and regret churning just below the surface of his features.

“You know, you're stuck with me, don't you?” Her words are teasing but her eyes are serious as they lock on his. Her free hand cards gently through his hair.

“I would have thought it the other way round,” he breathes, leaning into her touch with eyelids fluttering to half mast.

She smiles. “Good. I'm not letting you go.”

He grins back at her, catching her wrist and holding her hand in place as he nestles his face into her palm. He presses a soft kiss to the edge of her wrist. “Good.”

She leans her head down on his chest once more, exhaling slowly as she relaxes around him, settling in before drifting off once more.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> trying my hand at more yon-rogg angst?

Yon jolts upright in bed, gasping like a drowning man, mouth gaping and eyes spinning wildly around the room. His chest heaves as he tries to get his bearings. Scanning his surroundings, he catalogs every detail that could help anchor him, the marked differences between reality and nightmares. He notes the drawer on Carol's bureau where he now keeps his sleep clothes, the only one pushed neatly closed beside all the others left open in varying degrees with bits of her clothing poking out or draped over the edges. The small TV screen on the opposite wall bathes him and the room in a familiar bluish glow as the audience laugh track peaks quietly on the Terran sitcom's lowered audio. He feels the warm bed around him, padded with blankets that smell so much like Carol. Goose gazes at him disinterestedly from his perch on the seat of the nearby arm chair. 

Yon clings to these things as he desperately tries to rid the images still taunting him in his mind's eye. Carol, magnificent and glowing with a dark, perverse version of her power, blowing him to bits while her empty, cold, callous eyes stare blankly back at him. Over and over again, he sees her destroying him, unhesitatingly disposing of him as if he meant nothing to her all along.

Eyes screwed shut, he senses her stirring beside him, feels her questions coming without seeing her face. 

“I'm alright - I just need - a moment,” he says, rasping out the words in rough staccato. She reaches for him, but he recoils and draws into himself. Unbidden, his mind hisses an unbroken chant of invasive phrases. 

_Insufficient. Broken. Nothing. Weak. Expendable. Worthless._

The cacophony of insults he hurls at himself deafeningly echo in his mind, the words knocking the wind from his lungs and reason from his brain. She's still reaching for him, trying in vain to bring him comfort. 

“It's okay,” he insists, batting her hands away. “You don't have to do this.”

“Oh yeah sure,” she snorts delicately. She snags his wrists and pulls him in closer. She’s so much stronger than he is. Yet he still fights against her, determined not to subject her to this. 

“ _Yon,_ ” she presses sharply, momentarily breaking through his feeble bravado, “letting me in is not weak. You're not making me think any less of you. You don't have to push me away. You're not untouchable, okay?” 

He drops his arms and stops fighting her. How often he forgets how easily she can read his mind, how intimately she knows his inner workings. How she always forces him open with nowhere to hide, in the best and worst ways.

Giving in, but only a little, he leans slightly forward into her, head bowed in equal parts defeat and shame. She rhythmically cards her hands through his hair, the tempo a bit faster than how he normally calms her with similar movements. 

He's still clenching his entire body, every muscles coiled and ready to spring. He presses outward from himself, flexing painfully against the searing panic. She tugs his hands free of their clawed grip on their blankets, pulling his arms around her. She settles on her knees in the space between his legs, bringing their chests together. Carol tries coaxing him into laying his head in the same hollow under her collar bone, where she normally lays hers head on him, but he's resistant. Instead he presses his brow into her clavicle, face turned straight downward, eyes clamped shut again. His breathing is slightly less shallow, but still he's panting. He presses his brow harder into her collar, needing some small outlet for the tension. She rolls her shoulder forward, pressing back against him, giving him a bit of resistance. 

_Weak. Broken. Worthless._

The voice in his mind is quieter now, but still hisses through him. With his head bowed, she traces up and down the exposed and elongated muscles of his neck, gently lighting her fingertips and using the added warmth to coax the knots there into unfurling. 

As the moments wear on, his panting slowly dissipates, gives way to longer and more connected breaths. The muscles in his neck relax and his shoulders drop a full six inches from his ears. The disturbing images behind his eyelids fade and lose their coherence. He scoots his forehead up, nose skimming along her skin until he buries his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent deeply. 

_Home._

The calm and lucid thought overrides all else. It overwhelms his mind and knocks him slightly off center again, but he wills himself to remain relaxed against her. 

She turns and kisses whatever part of him she can reach, access limited by how deeply he’s burrowed into her. She unhurriedly peppers the outermost edge and shell of his ear, the scalp behind it, and the general direction of his temple. 

They stay like that for a long time. Breathing synchronized. Eyes closed. 

“I'm sorry,” he mutters, voice muffled against the column of her throat. 

She shakes her head and drops another kiss to his shoulder. 

“You know you don't have to apologize.” 

“Still.” 

“Wanna talk about it?”

He stiffens. 

“Not really. Maybe in the morning. I just -” 

He squeezes her closer, tension bubbling up again, voices hissing faintly at the edge of his mind. 

“Okay,” she agrees quickly. “Later, then. It's just you and me right now.” 

She exhales and then inhales slowly, deeply, wordlessly trying to compel him to copy her. 

He breathes with her for a moment before he pulls away from the crook of her neck and studies her, golden eyes depthless as he tracks every curve and dip of her facial features. He scrutinizes her face slowly and seriously, like he's seeing it for the first time, or maybe the last. His lashes are wet. This surprises her; she's _never_ seen him cry. She wasn't entirely sure it was physiologically possible for him to do so. 

She touches his cheek. His eyes drift close and he presses his forehead to hers and sighs. 

“Losing you was the most horrible part of my life,” he whispers. “And I'm -” he breaks off suddenly, inhaling sharply. 

He pulls back again and locks eyes with her.

“You are my north, my south, my east and west. My noon and my midnight,” he tells her, face open and absolutely vulnerable. “I would _break_ if you -” he stops suddenly as his throat constricts with emotion. 

“I'm not going anywhere, Yon,” she vows quietly, voice firm with conviction. 

His eyes search hers for a long moment. He nods. 

She presses her lips to his forehead and holds them there for several moments. 

“Come on, let's lay back down, okay?”

He's clingy, she notes, as they turn and curl into each other. Yon lies as close to her as possible, the line of his body flush with hers, arm curled around her back, head propped on the arm underneath him. She watches him carefully; he seems like he plans on spending the rest of the night just studying her face. 

“Don't want to go back to sleep?”

His eyes are mistrustful, hesitant. He doesn't answer. 

“What do you usually tell me when I'm afraid the nightmares will come back if I fall asleep again?” she asks, a little bemused. 

“That you're safe,” he says at once. “And I'm here. And I'll chase it away once more if you wake up again.”

She smiles and the sudden arch in her eyebrows spell out a silent _“See?”_

“I've got you,” she tells him, stroking his face. 

He keeps staring at her. 

“You're so beautiful,” he says simply. It's not the first time he's complimented her, but it is the first time he's said _this_ in as many words. 

She smiles indulgently at him, suspecting he's trying to distract her, albeit in an incredibly endearing way. She softly kisses the tip of his nose. 

“Thank you. But I'd rather we seduce each other later, I could still sleep for a bit. Relax with me,” she coaxes. “We're okay.”

“Okay,” he relents. 

He closes his eyes. When he exhales heavily yet slowly, she feels his whole frame sag down onto the mattress as he finally relaxes. He's still pressed against her, noses almost touching, breath mingling. He's hyper aware of how it would be the most natural thing in the world to tilt his mouth forward and capture her lips. But he doesn't. They've become very relaxed in their affection, but it's one line they've yet to cross. And he is loathe for it to happen in response to a nightmare like this. Later then, he muses.

His dreams are monopolized by her again when he drifts off. But this time, it's her laugh, her dazzling smile, the soft look in her eyes when she brushes a kiss to his forehead, the radiant glow of her power pouring out of her that consume him as he slips under.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> surpriseeee!

"Hey, you wanna go to Terra with me?" Carol asks brightly as Yon-Rogg sits down to breakfast.

He frowns slightly as he considers the wording of her offer.

"Yes, I suppose, but is there really an alternative choice? What would I even do while you went without me?"

"Fair point," she shrugs. "Monica's birthday is soon, I'd like to be there for it. I missed so many already…"

Yon looks down, suddenly losing his appetite. Shame bristles under the surface of his skin. She'd missed those birthdays because of him. He opens his mouth to apologize but Carol's hand is on his before he gets the chance.

"I wanted to see what you thought about tagging along, instead of just barking orders at you," she explains gently.

He smiles softly and nods his assent.

The journey to Earth is relatively short. By the next morning they're stepping onto Maria's dew-soaked lawn as the heavy humidity envelopes them in its own sticky, sweaty welcome. Maria waves hello from her porch, one hand resting on the screen door and a dish towel thrown over her shoulder. Monica bounds down the steps and across the lawn, launching herself into Carol's arms. They erupt into a fit of giggles as Carol muses Monica's hair.

The day passes quickly, helped along with Carol's insistence that Yon-Rogg learn how to play Terran board games, much to Monica's delight. She had been itching to bust out the new games she'd gotten as an early gift. To no one's surprise, Yon is a master at checkers, swiftly besting Carol in multiple rounds. He is completely flummoxed by Monopoly, but fascinated by Maria and Carol's exuberance over the bizarre metal pieces and colorful paper money.

Later, after dinner, Yon helps Maria wash and dry dishes as Monica chatters happily with Carol at the dining table. She's gesturing excitedly with her hands while Carol absentmindedly strokes her hair.

"Are you taking your stuff back this time?" Monica asks, her voice catching Yon and Maria's attention over the running water and clanging of dishes.

"I dunno, you do such a good job guarding it for me," Carol replies.

"Yeah, but you should have it with you," Monica insists, halfway out of her chair already. "I'll go get the box."

She bounds away and stomps up the stairs before Carol can object.

She and Maria exchange a look, Maria just shrugs and resumes scrubbing dishes. Carol glances at Yon. He studies the flurry of emotions churning under her features; excitement, dread, pain, and somehow, happiness.

Carol shifts uneasily in her seat, preparing for the very personal information load Yon is about to receive. She's skipped over a few of the more unpleasant parts of her Terran life. She's not sure what he'll think about the photos either. Kree are not particularly sentimental to begin with, but she knows there's an inevitable sarcastic comment just waiting for her after his assessment of earth's primitive cameras and printing.

Yon is puzzled by Carol's expression, but intrigued about what kind of "stuff" the little girl could be retrieving. Probably more records or strange shirts or another ridiculously poofy bed for Goose, maybe.

Monica bounds back in and sets the box down before stepping back with her chest puffed in satisfaction.

"Oh, you organized them!" Carol exclaims, turning to beam at Monica.

"Yeah, I figured it would help you sort your memories in the right order if you ever need help remembering."

Carol touches her face gently.

"You're so thoughtful, kiddo," she says softly. "You know I'd never forget you right? Or this Eeyore costume." Carol quirks an eyebrow as she holds up a photo of herself, Maria, and Monica all dressed in ridiculous full-body Halloween costumes.

"Hey!" Maria yells from the kitchen. "My mama spent weeks sewing those costumes for us, don't you dare knock it!"

Laughing, Carol turns to Maria. "Remember that one house that handed out full size candy bars?? Who gives half a dozen Hershey bars to a toddler?"

"Didn't you guys eat all of them after you put me to bed?" Monica asks.

"Uh, duh, it was for your protection. What kind of parents do you think we are?" Carol replies, smirking mischievously.

Yon smiles as Carol's eyes flit to his face. He scans the piles of photographs. He knew coming to C-53 might be painful, with so many reminders of the life she had before he'd interrupted it and abducted her, the evidence of his sins against her around every corner. But he wasn't prepared for this.

Carol's life before Vers, before the lake, before the core had always been abstract to him. He knew bits and pieces of it from stories she'd told him once her memories had come back. But this version of Carol Danvers had always been more of a ghost, a specter of a person he never knew but admired anyway. On Hala, he had speculated about her Terran life more times than he could count. Now, there was a tangible timeline in front him. Her adolescence spelling itself out in small flimsy paper squares. Her glaring at the camera holding a helmet of some kind next to a vehicle that definitely didn't appear to be safe in any form of the word. Her standing with a group of people he could only deduce as her biological family. He noted how she rounded her shoulders in, her body language screaming for distance from these people. Carol beaming up at the camera with bleary eyes and holding a small pink bundle, who he could only assume was Monica.

Her life here was so _real_. And he took her from it. From them, her family, the people in this room who loved her and who she loved back. She had missed _six birthdays_ because of him.

Guilt and pain swoop through him as he struggles to keep his composure.

Carol feels the pressure in her chest as she watches him study the photos. She senses his guilt, but she isn't immediately inclined to try and lessen it. Yon delicately lifts the photo of Carol and the pink bundle.

"That was the day she was born," she tells him quietly.

"You cried more than I did," Maria chimes in. Carol grins.

He gingerly picks up another photo and looks up at her questioningly.

"That's the day you graduated!" Monica supplies eagerly.

"Will you tell me about all of them?" He asks, unable to help himself, looking around to ask each of them for permission.

Beaming, Monica gleefully reaches for the first pile of photographs.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> whoOOOoops

Later that night, Carol slips into her sleep clothes and steps out of the restroom. The steam from the shower still clinging to her skin as she pads softly across the dimly lit spare bedroom. Yon is standing on the screened-in balcony attached to their room, gazing with a thousand yard stare at the darkened line of pine trees cloaking the lawn. She still feels twinges of his pain from earlier, mirroring her own resurfaced grief for her past life. 

"Hey," she calls gently as she approaches him.

He turns to face her. He looks as if he's aged a thousand years and the anguish in his eyes is bottomless. He studies her face as his brow knits slightly together in silent distress.

 "You're life here was wonderful," he tells her. "Your family is lovely. You were so fortunate."

 She nods. 

 "And I took it away from you." He looks down, hands gripping the railing. "Carol, I'm so sorry." 

 The wave of torment he had been struggling to keep at bay crashes over him. It slams into her too, surging through her entire body, unfurling down to the tips of her fingers and toes, echoed by her own grief.

 "I know," she says. "It sucks and it hurts and I used to spend a lot of time wishing I could just go back. But I can't. And we can't change what happened."

 He looks at her. 

 "When I first figured it out, I never expected you to feel any remorse, let alone apologize to me," she explains. "And I was so _angry_ with you. So even just you feeling bad and me not killing you is progress," she smirks at him. 

 He doesn't reciprocate her sudden levity. 

 "You should hate me," he murmurs.

 "Yes," she agrees. "But I don't. I wanted to. I did for a while, but I couldn't."

 He stares at the trees again. 

 "You should have let me die," she says simply.

 "Yes," he whispers, eyes fluttering closed. "But I couldn't."

 "Because of your orders."

 "No," he murmurs as he turns to face her. "Because you fascinated me. You were strong. And smart. And defiant. And a damn good pilot. And I couldn't just…"

 The implication hangs heavy in the air between them for a heartbeat.

 "So I took you. Away from your loved ones and your accomplishments and the only home you've ever known. And even worse, _then_ we took your memories of it all. Carol - "

 "Do you know what I was angriest about for the longest time?" she interrupts.

 There's a million possible answers, each one equally justifiable, so he just waits. 

 "That all of this -" she gestures between them "- was part of the lie. I assumed that you'd been ordered to groom me in order to keep me compliant and attached to the Kree. But," she breaks off. 

 He swallows hard and scrutinizes her face. 

 "The lies hurt, but the fact that they came from _you,_ " she hisses. "That _you_ lied to me. About everything. I genuinely thought you _liked_ me. That I was your favorite. That I was _special_ to you. Finding out that those little interactions were part of the facade and fodder for the lies just - that betrayal I felt when I realized I meant nothing to you all along..."

 Her words cut him like a million knives. He can't blame her for reaching this conclusion. If their positions were flipped, he'd have thought the same thing. 

 "It wasn't like that," he breathes.

 She moves closer and wordlessly rests her cheek against the top of his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his bicep. 

 "I know. But then I was afraid that I was only your favorite because you pitied me," she mutters.

 His free hand comes up to gently hold the back of her neck. He presses his forehead to the crown of her head, blonde hair tickling his lashes. 

 "You became my favorite because you were tenacious," he murmurs into her hair. "And precocious. And funny. And stronger than anyone I'd ever known. I _did_ feel responsible for your pain and unease at adjusting to life on Hala, but pity is not what drove me closer to you. _You_ drew me in. You still do," he adds.  His voice is rough, rocky with emotion and rumbles through her. His warm breath ghosts over the shell of her ear, causing goosebumps to blossom over her skin as he continues. 

 "Our relationship was key to the act, but it was only ever meant to be a tool to keep you contained and controlled. Which is why they made me your commander, not your equal, not your spouse, not your family. But I became your friend because I wanted to. Because I couldn't help myself. Because I wanted you. None of that was a lie. All of those private moments between us were real."

 She stays still for a long moment as she processes his words, eyes closed and pressed flush against his side. The tears threatening to spill over swim behind her lids. She sniffles quietly and nods slightly. 

 "I can see that _now_. I wouldn't let you into my bed if I still thought otherwise," she teases.

 He shifts so that they're fully facing each other and pulls her to his chest, tucking her head under his chin and wrapping his arms around her. 

 "As long as you'll have me, I will gladly spend the rest of my life protecting you and supporting you," he swears.

 She sighs contentedly. 

 He places a kiss to her forehead and lingers there, mouth soft and warm on her brow. 

 She tips her head back and considers him. The familiar tingling almost-electric connection buzzes under their skin and in the thick air around them. But she's also never felt more relaxed while being so close to someone. He feels like her home, like this is simultaneously the most normal and most exciting thing in the world. 

 "I love you," he whispers fiercely. "It doesn't make up for anything I've done. But I do. I always have." 

 Her eyes widen infinitesimally. She nods, studying his face and notes the earnestness and openness on his features. 

 "I love you too," she murmurs. "I knew I was a goner the first time I opened my eyes on Hala and saw you. I didn't stand a chance."

 They laugh quietly together. He beams at her with watery eyes and gently cradles her face between his hands. He bends towards her slowly, gauging her reaction. 

 All of his nerve ending flare in sudden blaze at the impossibly small gasp that escapes her lips before she rushes forward and captures his mouth with her own.

 He'd been expecting teeth and muscle and her usual ferocity. He hadn't expected her to absolutely melt against him and sink further into his embrace. Everything about her in this moment is soft and gentle and unhurried, like she intended on savoring every second of this for the next millennia. Her soft lips whisper languidly against his as he fleetingly considers how much _better_ this is than all of his fantasies. 

 When they finally break apart for air, his eyes are tearing in earnest. He brushes her hair back from her face and rakes his gaze over her flushed cheeks, reddened lips, and blown pupils. 

 "You have no idea how long I've wanted this," he breathes. 

 She smiles radiantly at him. 

 "Oh actually, I think I do," she smirks as she hungrily pulls him in for more. 


End file.
